I'm Alone Too
by Starry's Light
Summary: If rocks could take over hearts, Trent felt pretty sure he'd started that trend. Unfortunately for him, the girl that caused such stone continues to pester his brain, pick at his heart, and overall destroy him. He only wishes it would go away: some way or another, replaced by better emotions. Oneshot.


**Hello! Here's a oneshot I felt the need to be written; it's a short story about Gwen and Trent from Total Drama Island, and how I think they should've acknowledged each other again at some point... I just didn't like them breaking up. It didn't feel right.**

**Gah, ignore the mini-rant, and enjoy, fellow Gwent fans! :3**

Gwen/Trent- I'm Alone too

Buzzing, almost as if a hostile hiss, rose about him. Eyes closed just the slightest on the warm, Saturday night, Trent could almost picture himself within a sort of stands, the low buzzing of crickets and other nightly summer pests easily morphed into the cheering crowd of people massed into place, all with bright eyes and great, gigantic smiles worming onto their faces at the sound of the music, the pluck of the chord, the lilt of the string, each important bit mixed together in a warm brightness in his heart.

Of course, none of those people mattered; he didn't care about those cheery expressions. No, no, not such an astronomical sense: just one. He only wanted one of those smiles to charm his heart; and he knew which one too. Most everyone from that camp just so happened to live in a similar area, so he knew well enough that if he so desired and felt crazy enough to do it, he could go over and knock on the quirky girl's door in the gentle breeze of the summery night. After what shattered them apart, he felt only possible to usurp that breaking; any sort of glue could hold them together, the didn't care what. Trent just had that feeling in the calloused chords in his heart, tenderly and roughly plucked on just as much—if not more—as the guitar nestled between gently-curved pale hands, as he sat there on the softly-wooden bench and waited for nothing to come.

The guitarist found the night pleasant, if none other. In the confines of his muddled mind, he knew well enough that none of his wishes would actually come true at that time. They just... they couldn't. He was well enough alone, without the source of hope, without the source of love, joy, whatever he lacked, to complete his nullified heart; there couldn't be a way for someone besides Gwen to take that spot in his soul, and there couldn't be a way he would find that feeling in his cold heart anytime soon to find her again. If wishes were fishes... Trent felt surely he could feed an entire homeless family for the rest of their although-short lives with the wish in his heart. Only one—one single hope—permeated his head in the muggy air, and—

No. Trent shook himself, dark curls bouncing along his forehead. No. Don't even think about it, he consoled himself, as it only brings more pain anyways. Just don't press that pressure point; don't consider the following. He shoved any stray thought, any hapless notion of the girl and her stereotypical goth look that he knew just hid the golden heart within—none of that mattered now. The warm night swirling about him seemed to choke now, instead of console, of comfort. He had to stop it—had to stop thinking of her like that. It didn't matter how he felt so long as she saw differently.

A sneaking suspicion wandered about, asking the meaningless question of what if she felt the same.

She didn't. She was the sole reason his heart felt so heavy—she was his destruction's cause. Trent doubted the fellow teenager once brought to Camp Wawanakwa alongside him, first friends, then something more, until those moments were crudely snatched away by him via mistakes he or she couldn't erase; he doubted he could easily walk over there and, what, ask her out again? No, no... imagining the murky eyes of hers darken against his own and eventually turn him away sent a slight rumble into the stony tomb of the heart that somehow continued to pump inside of him: calloused but working, like fingers plucking absently on the guitar before him. Trent knew this, recognized this, and still continued to think mindlessly and without a sort of hope for himself, formulating useless thoughts and plans, any hope that the muggy Saturday night could be nice to himself annihilated simply by that thought. That thought of some... some girl. Some girl indeed. The notion stuck to him, and again Trent felt the idiotic remorse at having to profusely wipe and scrub at thoughts of the goth like she was a germ.

Not that she was.

Trent could never call her a germ. The word didn't feel right, and he knew well it never would. No matter what the pale teen thought of him; no matter what she thought beneath those cutely-striped teal-and-black fronds of hair gently curling into her face like a flower's kind petals; no matter what the murky depths of those bottle-green orbs saw in him, solid fact stuck hard like the rock where his heart should have gone.

Like a burning fire on the roaring evening, the thoughts buzzed in his head again. Somewhere in that head of his he felt that he hadn't gone crazy—she just sprung those sorts of notions in his brain and had yet to find a way to flush them out. Because he couldn't. A natural fact in life itself: Trent couldn't get that girl out of his mind.

Eventually, slowly, almost as if it pained him to do it, bright green eyes flashed open again and he let out a small groan. His thoughts pricked like needles, digging deeper into the soft tissues of his brain the longer he let them in. Was it even possible for a person to draw him this mad? Could it? Apparently; either that or an exotic disease has fed into his head. Trent felt sure enough that after the turmoil Total Drama had brought him, the guitarist had yet to catch one of those buggers.

It took time, though shorter than it had those first few days, to sluggishly, carefully, via exaggerated movements in his mind, to feed the thoughts of Gwen out again. It seemed to be a hopeless spiral that he could never break out of. But another small exhale, another gentle pluck of the stringed instrument he held, and he found himself calming again. Gently, quietly, feeling a soft air of cool calmness, of the alone sense he held in his heart alongside the external world, he strung the guitar again, softer, faster, slower, soft again, weeding within and throughout the instrument, only willing to hear it sing for him, to know that at least he still had that.

As the music swung to an almost ethereal level, the soft, swaying motion still gentle and slow, Trent held himself together. "It just hurts sometimes, that's all," murmured the teenager into the muggy air of the night. Again, awash in his heart was the serene setting of nighttime air, nighttime stars, nighttime bugs chirruping as they wished to his tune. "It just hurts sometimes. I'll get over it eventually. I have to."

Trent quietly spoke to himself within the movement of the guitar, consoling the pain in his chords that strung all the while seeming that his stony heart's collected outside would crush in and leak chaos, a great, wild scene of chaos, into the world and out with his soul. Some way or another, he understood that eventually the squeezing of his head filled to the brim with thoughts of Gwen would die away. Fade off. But as they went on, he also held the knowledge that time would not come soon.

Still, he found peace in the eye of his hurricane. That peace, perhaps, stuck together by the fake sureness he'd talk to that kind, bright goth another day, soon, and their wounds would mend; and the plan set in his head that yes, the pain would go. It would fade away. Content hardened the base of the wall in his heart, reassuring the guitarist to an encore that one day he would meet another nice girl that perchance would heal the wounds still, help him change, help his health bloom, his smiles bloom, the music bloom as well. Brighter; stronger; happier.

Perhaps the shadow of a girl he noticed picking her way across the serene park, toward his shared-by-none bench, would change just that. Eventually as the shape grew in form he easily could recognize the girl all over again, know she had possibly searched for him, found him, and sat there now, beside him, listening to the slow, sad strings of his guitar. Sewn into song by anguish, even.

They shared a green-eyed glance that spoke more words and memories than any other meeting of entities could wish for, and the music sung betwixt them on the softly heated summer eve. Trent still held up every emotion, every thought, every scrap of feeling for this _girl _tied to his pale pinky finger, ready to be released again. Or used. However it wished to be seen.

Then his companion surprised him through a sniffle she must have hidden earlier: a light, squeaking sob as well. Each died away, but the rasp in her tone obviously revealed where it had come from.

And again the swing of feelings tied to his chords threatened to plow him into one-sided thoughts: an ensemble of thoughts he felt that squeezing urge to share with her.

"I'm sorry for everything I did to you.

"It hurts... too."

**In the end I settled with a little more of a mellower tang. Fun fact, at first I'd thought I would like make some oneshot where Gwen's crying somewhere and it's in her point of view and Trent shows up and just... I dunno, cute stuff... but this is nicer, I feel. I dunno, I like it.**

**Of course I like it, I wrote it. If an author doesn't like their own work, they should stop writing that piece like right now. **

**Hweh, that was kind of random. Have a great day~ ^^ **


End file.
